


Lost, Lost, Lost

by Skullfuggery (OverwatchingYouSleep)



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Hurt/Comfort, Is this angst or fluff I can't tell, Other, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 07:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20287339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverwatchingYouSleep/pseuds/Skullfuggery
Summary: “And then, since no place was really his, no place was really his home, he had this habit of attaching himself immediately to any place.”





	Lost, Lost, Lost

**Author's Note:**

> local fuckup brings you his emotional baggage in fic form, more at 11

There was never hesitation with Michael. In his hands you twitched and writhed as he ripped through your torso with his knife. He could not meet your eyes, and your eyes never met his, focusing instead on the air above his head until they could focus on nothing at all. His finger twitched on your neck, searching for a throbbing jugular vein. Finding nothing. Rather than throw your body to the side, his grip simply loosened until your corpse slid out of his hands and hit the ground. He side-stepped and continued to push forward, focusing with all his will on the trial he had yet to complete.  
  
As always, he was merciless. He slammed the hatch shut just as the last survivor made a break for it, catching them in their forward momentum as they tried desperately to dig their heels in the ground. This was even slower, dragging the knife forward and back and savoring every last expression on their face until they slumped out of his hold, hitting the ground in a heap. Unlike yours he studied this body, eyes trained on the dead survivor until it faded from view, and instead he found himself back at the campfire. He glanced up and around at the faces around him.  
  
Both the Hag and Spirit were wrapped up in trials, but the rest of the killers were wrapped in their own minds, only Philip raising his head to give Michael an amiable nod. It wasn't reciprocated; Michael only spun around and started towards the survivors campfire. He had barely gotten two steps in before the Entity's claws shot up halfway across the divide, forming it's impenetrable barrier. It knew, just like Michael knew, that what he wanted was not allowed. He grit his teeth and walked up to it anyway, fingers weaving between the chitin. He hated being told no.  
  
You were there, along with some others. Half of the survivors were in trials now, making it easier to pick your head out of the crowd gathered around the campfire. He could see your lips moving, a smile ghosting your lips but never fully forming. Michael did what he did best, and watched. Every little motion, your hands fiddling in your lap and your foot tapping out some imaginary beat, it dug into his chest, searching to burrow into something that wasn't there.  
  
You glanced up over the fire, and through the illusory embers your eyes met his. There was no change in your expression, and on the surface there was none in his. But he could feel his lips pressed together, clamped between his teeth until they hurt. Felt his throat constrict as he swallowed, his nostrils flare as his breath left him in a heavy, wistful exhale. You turned back to the group, continuing to speak too far for him to listen.  
  
Then, to his enigmatic relief, you brought yourself to your feet.  
  
He walked along the barrier with you, 10 yards apart, matching you step for step until you reached the treeline that lead into the Entity's forest. The barrier still cut through here, weaving around whatever stood in it's way, but Michael knew, had learned from experience, that it was not infinite. With one final look at each other, yours more subtle than his, you both stepped into the woods.  
  
Once you were out of his sight the dread crept in again, the empty pit in his chest reeling with inertia. Because it had to be empty, because Michael was nothing but pure evil to the core. Right? That was what he had always been told. Though he felt the beat he had no heart there, only blackness and his simple, simple purpose: To kill.  
  
And you were no different. He showed you no mercy, not a moment's pause. Yet it felt different. Which was odd, because killing usually felt like nothing. No pride, no satisfaction, just a sense that he had fulfilled what he needed, that he had silenced his one-track mind for the time, even if it always came back for more, ready to once again use his body as a catalyst for death. Everything that drove him forward was not a part of him, and he was sure that this, whatever it was, was different. It came from a different part of him.   
  
He could feel the static in the air, the discontent of the Entity present in the ground he traversed and the air he breathed. Not only were his inner demons disappointed in his behavior, but the demon that surrounded him as well. From inside to out he felt himself crushed between their desire, his will versus theirs. Fortunately for him, a man like Michael Myers didn't know how to break.  
  
Finally, the path opened up, the Entity resigned it's hold on him and it's barrier opened to a small clearing, a perfect circle carved out of the landscape. Half his side and half yours, but nothing to separate the two. He suppressed the chill that ran up his spine as he stepped over the divide, once again scanning the trees for a face he had grown uncomfortably familiar with. One that emerged not a minute later.  
  
Michael never felt in control of his urges except in this moment. Each choice was his, calculated to the evil's whim, but only to serve it and nothing more. To suppress it now, in these self-indulgent moments, it was the only hardship he had ever faced, and he did it only for this moment. The one where he could walk up to you and drop to his knees, hang his head to feel the warmth of your hands slide beneath his latex mask and slowly pull it off. He licked his lips, and not for the first time in this clearing he spoke.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
As always, the statement was followed by a kiss on his forehead, one that filled his heart--yes, that must be a heart that's pounding away so furiously inside of him--with unmeasured yearning. Something he had sought for in coming back to Haddonfield but had never found until here, in this clearing, with you.  
  
"I forgive you, Michael."  
  
Home.


End file.
